I suppose this piece can be an extension to a post I wrote not to long ago on book repairs. But it’s also inspired by a book I’ve been putting back to together – well, about 12 + copies of it anyhow.

My Friend Dahmer is a memoir-style graphic novel by John “Derf” Backderf. Although I’ve seen far too many graphic scenes of Jeff Dahmer slashing roadkill and probably reading the same pages over and over again, I pretty much got the just of how scary this guy really was. Dahmer was pretty much an outcast, and lived a pretty crappy life, he wound up taking his pain and neglect on roadkill. Although he didn’t entirely divulge his ever-growing lust for flesh, he wasn’t exactly a truly accepted kid in school, so I don’t blame him for not trying to get help — also, can I just point out this happened in the ’70s, not to say that nobody would’ve known how to diagnose Dahmer is he got help, but I feel like society was pretty blind to things, especially if your disability wasn’t obvious. By the end Dahmer is prosecuted as a serial killer after his apartment was apparently found stocked with several dead bodies, some disemboweled.

First Victims

Just after he graduated from high school, in June 1978, Dahmer picked up a hitchhiker named Steven Hicks and took him home to his parents’ house where he proceeded to get the young man drunk. When Hicks tried to leave, Dahmer killed him with a blow to the head with a barbell. He dismembered the corpse of his first victim, packed the body parts in plastic bags and buried them in the woods behind his parents’ house. It would be another nine years before he encountered his second victim.

I always like when teachers allow students a glimpse into non-fiction through whether it’s a title like A Long Way Gone or My Friend Dahmer, but I’m kind of nauseated. I can’t deny there are people like this, but to sum up; ew.

It's very difficult to form a true conclusion as to the real identity of the individual known as Leah Smith for she is an enigma amongst humans. A tiny, canvas shoe wearing mystery who constantly eludes those trying to study her. Here's what we know to be fact, born in the late eighties (possibly) in London, under, most likely, a cloud of polution. How she ended up in Somerset remains to be seen, but end up there she did, whispering to cats, prancing about fields and fighting crime in the dead of night under the guise of 'KittenGirl.' All other information is mere sepculation, all we know for certain is that she walks among us and one day, may even save your life.